Something Obvious
by Team Jem Carstairs
Summary: The Doctor is missing something obvious.


**Well. This is my first Doctor Who fic, and I hope you enjoy it. I hope it makes at least some sense, that you know what I'm trying to imply. Please review? Should I even bother writing more Doctor Who, or should I go back to Infernal Devices?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All credit to the loveliest of lovlies, Matt Smith, Arthur Darvill, and Stephen Moffat (okay, maybe he's not so lovely).**

"_Ooh, I'm missing something obvious, Rory, something big, something right slap in front of me, I can feel it."_

"_Yeah, I think you probably are."_

"_Oh, I'll get it in a minute."_

The Doctor had always prided himself on his cleverness, his perception, his ability to never miss a clue (he liked thinking of it that way, 'clue'. It made him feel like Sherlock Holmes). He wasn't unintelligent, to be sure, he was a truly brilliant man, and all his knowledge had given him confidence, the kind of bravado one requires to come face to face with his mortal enemy and merely crack a joke, even in the face of almost certain death.

That was until he met Rory Williams.

Mr. Pond (the poor lad acquired so many nicknames, from "The Last Centurion" as an affectionate reminder of past adventures to "The Nose," a less-than-affectionate jab at his personal appearance) baffled him. Ever since he had married the Girl Who Waited (it occurred to the Doctor that this new regeneration was big on nicknames), Rory had only gotten stranger in his attitude to the Time Lord.

The Doctor would often look over at his companions to see Rory already watching him, a furtive expression on his face and an unreadable emotion in his eyes– something that made the Doctor tetchy, not liking being unable to read someone. He tried bringing it up to Amy, once, but the ginger girl merely shrugged it off. He didn't mention it again, getting the sense it was something better kept to himself anyway.

So he studied the boy whenever he could, learning his body language but growing more frustrated that _that one thing in his eyes _was as mysterious as ever. He tried to get Rory alone, to see if Amy was influencing _it_, but if anything her absence made Rory even more incomprehensible.

Until _that night_.

The Doctor, not needing nearly as much sleep as a human, was up late performing a bit of routine maintenance on the TARDIS. She was chatting comfortably, her familiar tone echoing in the Doctor's head, until a different voice cut through. "Need any help there?"

The Doctor, on a mad whim surely brought on by endless confusion and frustration over the past few days, chucked his sonic screwdriver in the general direction of the newcomer. When a sharp cry of pain and surprise gave way to an irritated, "Bloody hell, Doctor!" he untangled himself from under the center console and stood up.

It was Rory, holding the sonic and squinting in disbelief. "Blimey, Rory, I'm sorry. Don't really know why I did that."

"Because you're mad, that's why." The Doctor noted the sleep-deprived cadence of his companion's voice, husky and cracked. He rather thought it was nice.

"Look, I said I'm sorry." He was quiet for a minute. "Why are you awake? Bit early, isn't it? You look…" _Awful_, he thought, not wanting to say it aloud.

Rory's face pulled at the deepest depths of the Doctor's heart. He was old enough to know that strength came from within, not without, and that it didn't always come with age and experience. He beheld the wonder that was Rory Williams: for a man who couldn't die, or at least refused to stay dead, a man who had told Hitler to shut up and had once punched the Doctor in defense of the woman he loved, he was a fragile being. The littlest word could shatter him, which made the Doctor a bit terrified of him. Conundrums frightened and intrigued him simultaneously, and Rory Williams-Pond was a conundrum.

"Just, you know, couldn't sleep," Rory answered. "Thought I'd see if you were awake."

_I'm missing something obvious, Rory._ The Doctor's past words, uttered under very different circumstances, rang in his head. _Missing something obvious. Missing something. Something obvious._ He looked into the other man's eyes, a quite lovely shade of green, and felt that same tug at his heart, the urge to protect something weaker than himself; despite everything Rory had going for him, despite the obvious strength and invulnerability the Doctor saw in him, Rory needed to be handled gently. At that moment the Doctor felt he was closer than ever to plumbing the depths of Rory's soul.

Rory knew it, too. It was all over his face, in the softness that spread over his features, smoothing the worry lines in his brow. Rory knew, somehow, that the Doctor was trying to read him, and he did what he could to make that easier, which the Doctor could appreciate.

It took the Doctor a second to notice that Rory was holding out the sonic for him to take. He reached out and took it, his hand sliding over the familiar surface to accidentally brush Rory's fingers. The Doctor felt sparks ignite at the touch, the same sparks he saw fly from Rory's eyes, the same sparks the Doctor used to feel when he looked at Rose Tyler. And in that moment (_Yeah, I think you probably are_) the Doctor understood.

Like a newborn seeing the light for the first time, _he understood._ There was so much meaning in the way Rory looked at him, spoke to him, and he could translate it. "Rory the Roman, you're brilliant, you know that?" he said quietly, trying – and failing– to keep from beaming.

The man blushed faintly, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a half smile. "Nah," he contradicted, but not very vehemently. "You could have gotten the sonic yourself, you know. Or not thrown it at all."

_That's not what I meant and you know it,_ the Doctor thought, but settled for clapping Rory on the back and grinning. Understanding was a beautiful feeling, and he was going to revel in it, no matter what the consequences might be. Sure, there was Amy to consider– did she know?– and the Doctor didn't quite know how he felt about the whole matter, but it was dark and late at night, and nothing seemed to matter except the warmth of Rory's gaze and the resolute tingling of his hand where they had touched.

_I'll get it in a minute._

__**I'm doubly sorry if this is OOC in any way, because I've, er, never seen the Eleventh Doctor. Nine and some of Ten, yes, but Eleven... no. But I saw this quote and got an idea, so... Forgive me?**


End file.
